


I'd look better dead

by Sunnystar



Series: The Lupin Chronicles [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alliances, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Remus Lupin, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Loss, Mentor Severus Snape, Near Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Depression, Remus Lupin Needs a Hug, Sad, Severus Snape Has a Heart, Suicidal Thoughts, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Werewolf Remus Lupin, Werewolves, gen for now - Freeform, kind of, like eventually, poor werewolf, this is kind of a prolouge, to get the ball rolling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-10 20:10:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18414995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunnystar/pseuds/Sunnystar
Summary: Living hurts so much and wishes he could die right there, wishes he could die before he freezes alive. Dying, for him, seems like a long deserved rest. He wanted his wand desperately, but he sold it weeks ago to buy some cheap bread that was gone within three days. He’s bollocks at wandless magic, and he’s afraid he’s going to bite his tongue if he attempts to speak. Choking on his own blood is altogether too miserable for him to comprehend, and the truth is that he rather wants to die.





	I'd look better dead

**I'd look better dead**

by _blackflowercrown_

 

There’s an evil, selfish part of me

That doesn’t want my scars to fade

It’s that part of me I lock in a corner

And pray to rot it away

 

it lives in the back of my mind

where my conscience goes to cry

there are too many spiders to see

it’s where my monsters go to die

 

and that dark place, however

may just be the reason that I’m alive

it told me the scars were beautiful

when I thought I wouldn’t survive

 

it also told me, though

that I’d look pretty in red

that as the blood poured down my arm,

it said I’d look much better dead

 

* * *

 

He’s so cold, and he’s been cold for such a long, long time. His hands are numb, his teeth hurt from chattering. He breathes weakly, air freezing in front of him as he curls into the ragged blanket. 

Everything bloody hurts, and he hasn’t recovered from yesterday night’s transformation. His bones ache with the onset of rheumatism, and he knows his temple is bleeding profusely from Moony’s claws. His nails are chipped and broken, lips chapped and ripped to shreds. 

Living hurts so much and wishes he could die right there, wishes he could die before he freezes alive. Dying, for him, seems like a long deserved rest. He wanted his wand desperately, but he sold it weeks ago to buy some cheap bread that was gone within three days. He’s bollocks at wandless magic, and he’s afraid he’s going to bite his tongue if he attempts to speak. Choking on his own blood is altogether too miserable for him to comprehend, and the truth is that he rather wants to die. 

He gets up, he claws desperately at the shack’s walls. He was to get up, find someone before he dies in this godforsaken shithole. He falls, collapses, face hitting the splintered walls painfully, and he’s lucky he’s not blind. He’s crawling, barefoot and on his knees to the papery thin door, and it hurts to trip forward down the stairs, and the snow bites into his bare feet. He knows he’s trailing blood behindhim. The splinters dig into him, but he has no voice or energy in him to whimper. He’s screaming silently, eyes blurry with tears, and soon he’s dragging himself forward by the tips of his fingertips. 

There’s no hope fo him, no one is going to come looking for him. He just hopes that he rots before the snow freezes him, and he lays his tawny head on the snow. He’s giving up, and he’s disappointed in himself, deep down. But it hurts too much to go on. 

The snow tastes frighteningly chill against his lips, and stings. He has to wonder at how he looks, like the Snow White of Muggle myths. Red blood, Bruises black as coal, white as snow. White as snow. 

_White as snow._

And he succumbs to the cold right there, halfway between the trees and the shack, hand over heart. 

 

 

* * *

 

In all honesty, he isn’t supposed to be there, except that the closest appartition point to Knockturn alley is past the Shrieking Shack. He likes to think the Hogsmeade as scenic in the winter, covering the cobblestones with a fresh layer, clean and new. The world is magical in the winter, Hogwarts becoming the school of his youth, back when Lily played with him and Potter was a distant threat. When the Dark Lord was simply silent whispers.

He’s walking forward, and he wouldn’t have noticed him. Except that the shack’s door was open, and that caught his eyes first from a distance. He walks forward, curious, but then sees the blood against the snow.

_ And the body. _

He thinks he’s dead, the person is, but he rushes to his side anyway. Dark blonde hair, thin and fragile bones, a face turned the other way around.

In hindsight, he knew that it was Lupin even before he saw his face. But he jumps backward at the time.

Lupin is barefoot, laying in a pool of his own blood, wrapped in a huge rag. His eyes are closed deceptively, as if he was simply sleeping. Severus is careful not to touch the blood and casts a quick _scourify_. Lupin’s face is pale as a corpse, and Severus knows he should be dead, but the weak pulse says otherwise.

He doesn’t want to save him. In fact, the werewolf’s life was pretty miserable. It might be best for the both of them if he died. But he suddenly sees Lily sleepily laying on a table in the library, on her heavy transfiguration tome, Lupin slowly lifting the book out under her and summoning a pillow, the look of soft adoration. Lily’s fierce protective nature towards the beast. Lily loved Lupin like a brother. Lily would never forgive him if he let the beast die.

And he’d do anything for Lily.

* * *

 

Remus wakes up somewhere warm, and his immediate thought is that this is the afterlife. A small, joyful smile lights up his face as he imagines Lily, James, and Peter waiting for him, a life where the wolf wouldn’t torment him. 

And then the pain hits hit and he begins to scream in agony. He sits up, jarring his arm and catches a glimpse of his midsection, covered in blackish blue bruises and cuts. He whimpers in agony, wishing against hope that he would just die here, that the pain would stop. 

Alas. No sign of it abating, and he lays back down, grimacing at the plain sterility of the hospice. 

The curtain rustles, revealing an anxious Pomfrey. 

“Mr. Lupin, what the bloody hell were you doing in the cold? ” Her arms are on her hips, lips pursed. Once upon a time ago, this would have scared the crap out of him. 

“I was hoping I would finally die, but I suppose not. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.” Pomfrey gapes, and Remus feels the slightest bit guilty. His face is like stone though.

An awkward silence later, Pomfrey harrumphs, but the sadness is still evident. Remus hates that. He doesn’t want her sadness, her pity. He doesn't want her fear, her sorrow. He has enough on his own. He doesn’t want her fucking pity.

“Remus….” She says nothing else, and checks over his wounds. The splinters from his feet, palms, and face have been removed, and his extremities are still intact, so no frostbite. He tries to feel an ounce of gratitude, something that celebrated his living. He, the polite, tame werewolf , should thank the kind nurse.

_Nothing._

She casts spells and manages to shove three foul-tasting potions down his throat. He’s worried that their going to make a round trip, especially on his empty stomach, but somehow, he doesn’t regurgitate everything.

“Who found me?” He was going to hurt them, the bastards. Who would save a wolf? Was it some random stranger? Was it someone he knew? Fucking Dumbledore?

“Severus was walking to the apparating point…” She left the rest unsaid. He closed his eyes, leaning back. He had nothing to say, nothing that would express his utter shock at the prospect. Why would Severus fucking Snape save him? From the bitter words and sneers, he was certain the man detested him.

After some minor fussing, she left his little section, and he stared at the ceiling, which was far too dull for comfort. White walls burned into his retinas, not even a stray Quidditch magazine or Witch Weekly in sight. He wanted to scream until Thanatos came for him, until he became a ghost and faded away. 

He smells the scent of aconite and herbs before he sees him. The grim potionsmaster looks exactly the same as he did 5 years ago, at Lily’s funeral. 

Remus wants to kill him, and Remus never wants to hurt anyone.

He hates Snape, for dooming Lily and James and Harry. Beautiful, perfect baby Harry, with ten perfect fingers and ten perfect toes.

He hates that he subscribed to a supremacist ideology, that a half blood like Severus thought that a half breed like Remus was any worse than he was. Yes, Remus is a beast. But he never chose this, he’s only paying for his father’s outspokenness, for his sins. Snape chose this, he chose to follow a creature, a monster and look at him now! A high paying job, a life of stability while Remus wandered, starved,mourned the loss of everyone he had ever loved. He wished the karmic forces existed in the magical world, but if they did, Lily wouldn’t have died screaming for her son’s life in exchange for her own. 

He doesn’t mean to look up, not really, but he does. And then he stares, drinking in the man before him, trying to see if he’s grown into a better man in the last few years.

His hair is still greasy, cheekbones still high, eyes still dark. His dour expression brings up a fresh wave of loathing, and Remus hates him. He never thought he could hate someone, but now that’s three people. Sirius, Greyback, and Snape. 

Snape clears his throat, clearly ready to start asking him questions. Remus wants him to choke on his own tongue. He stares into Severus, and revels in the visible flinch the git gives as his thoughts hit him. 

“What happened to your wand, beast?” And Remus can’t stand him, oh so high and mighty, staring down at him like this tosser was somehow better than him. Moony growls in his chest, sinewy muscles tensed.

“I sold it three weeks ago.” He finally replies. He doesn’t say anything else, because Snape blanches at this. He doesn’t need to get into his reasons, because whatever shred of pride he has left protests fiercely. 

“What type of bloody idiocy is that? What type of wizard sells his wand?” One who’s starving, Remus silently intones. He’d already sold every shirt and every pair of shoes and all the cheap baubles his parents had left for him. Their ancestral house had been burned down by angry Death Eaters in the war, and Hope Nadine Lupin with it. He slumps ever so slightly at the small pang of grief that runs through his veins.

He pretends that it didn’t hurt to have to sell his wand. His mother was a Muggle, but his great aunt Cadence wasn’t. It was a cheap heirloom, temperamental against his placid character. 

He missed it so much. He’s busy contemplating life without a wand, now that he’s alive and all that he doesn’t notice Snape casting a quick diagnostic spell on him.He does, however, look up to Snape’s gasp. He’s paler than usual, which makes him look like a fucking vampire. Wait. That would only apply if he had a heart, because the heart pumps blood and...

“Lupin…you have…scars…” Severus swallows, uncomfortably. Remus is unfazed. He’s had scars. Hell, he has more scars than…than anything else. He’s a werewolf. What else would anyone expect? His questioning look makes Snape huff. 

“Not the self-inflicted ones, mongrel! I mean the ones on your thighs and the cuts in your rectum!” And now it’s Remus who blanches. 

“What the-” Snape cuts him off, the rude bastard. 

“Lupin…you weren’t…you weren’t raped, were you?” And he almost looked concerned, and Remus kind of appreciates it. Intellectually, at least. Emotionally, he wants to gouge Snape’s eyes out. 

“No. Well, not recently anyway. It was all consensual, even if some of them were a bit too rough.” That’s an understatement, he couldn’t walk for a week after, and the skin around his hips were all sorts of sore. Snape looks alarmed, perhaps catching his thoughts as well. 

“Why are you in pain then? If it was consensual?” And now Remus wants to scream out curses, because what does Snape know about sex? About making hard, rigid decisions? About painful, emotionless coupling that you did for money? 

“I needed the money. And you will not shame me for it.”And yet he does feel ashamed. He didn’t like whoring himself out, he just needed the money to buy food. But when he lost the energy and was injured one time too many, well. That’s when things went downhill. 

“Why...?” He looks genuinely interested, which is horrible. Why does he care? Stupid Snape with his ability to brew potions and stable job and... 

The fight goes right out of him, and Remus slumps. Why does it matter? He’s not competing with Snape. In fact,  _ he can’t _ . He’s homeless and wandless and looked like someone robbed him at gunpoint. Hell, he looks like something that crawled at a particularly thorny sewer. A thorny sewer that was probably too good for him, had probably evicted him, stupid sewer...

“I needed money for food, and I haven’t lived in a proper home in almost two years. My ancestral home burned down years ago, and I don’t know anyone who would grant me empolyment. I was staying the shack for my transformation, but... I didn’t transform this turn. I couldn’t even get up. Not this time.” He rubs his hand through his hair. “I guess even the curse knew that transforming would kill me this time, eh..?” He pretend his hair is soft and silky instead of smelly, oily, dry, dead.

He honestly expects Snape to laugh at him. To say something oily and sarcastic, to call him a big baby. So what if his health was declining so fast that he didn’t even turn? So what? 

But he doesn’t. Snape is biting his lip and trying not to say something. Awkward silence fills the room, and he’s pacing around. If Snape’s trying not to say something,then it must be really bad. 

He’s a little curious. 

“Spit it out, Snape.” His eyes heavy, and his bruises hurt. The universe is spinning in alignment, the world is going as it should, the monster is being punished- 

Snape halts abruptly and turns to him. “Albus is offering you a position here at Hogwarts. You should accept.” And the universe stops, jarring the planets. The world floods with light as he opens his eyes. 

“What?” And Snape scowls, but there is nervousness and anxiety. 

“I thought werewolves had exceptional hearing. You heard correctly.” Snape is biting his lip, gnawing at it.Remus’s back hits the pillow with a muffled thud. 

“Why…me? Why? What position? What about my furry problem?” Snape sneers at the euphemism. Severus knows exactly what Remus’s ‘furry’ problem is. In fact, he’d seen it firsthand, far too late for euphisms.

“Are you so blind? Albus cannot let you live like this anymore! Lupin, you don’t seem to understand the extent of your injuries! You were bleeding out!” 

“…and?” Remus doesn’t mean to be so cavalier, it’s just kind of a side affect of being part wolf. Severus doesn’t agree. 

“You bloody thick-skulled ninny! You were dying! No one in their right mind would let you leave! You would kill yourself the minute you were alone! Albus always had a fondness for you moronic Gryffindors, but even if he didn’t, how could he repay your service in war by letting you off yourself? What better way to make you stay than to offer you a stable job?” Remus props his head up on his fist. 

“Then…can I decline?” Now it’s Snape who is staring in shock. 

“No! You can’t bloody decline! Look at yourself!” 

“But would it be so very horrible to disappear?” He doesn’t mean to say that outloud, not really. But he knows he shouldn’t have, the way Snape’s face becomes pale, and Pomfrey gasps from beyond the screen. He feels as he should comfort them, tell them that it’s going to be fine. 

But he doesn’t. Why should he spend all of his life justifying how he feels?  _Why should he hide?_

Severus glares at him, dark and angrily. Before he knows is, Snape is in his face, leaning over him, whispering in a biting, threatening tone. 

“Listen here, Lupin. I don’t give a bloody damn, you suicidal fuck. But the Dark Lord hasn’t been vanquished. Not really, he’s just been pushed back. And who do you think is going to be in the centre of the fight? I’ll give you a hint; he’d be about seven years old, orphaned and alone with fucking Petunia Dursley. ” Remus glares back at him, teeth bared. A low growl vibrates from his throat. Snape is so close, so close that Remus can see the faint freckles on his neck and the scars on his throat. Very few people get this close to him, and Remus doesn’t like the proximity. He doesn’t like being cornered, because he is a beast but he is also a claustrophobic person.

“Still waging a war, Snape? You can fight all you want. You can do all the nasty, traitorous, Death-Eater activities you want. But you’ve got no right to ask me to stay alive, you bastard.” Snape pulls out his wand, holding it under this Jugular. "Come on, hex me! Hex me and I’ll be happy! I want to die! There’s no point anymore, you see! They’re all…gone. There’s no one…left. Not anymore.” And Remus wishes, wishes beyond hope, that he had died that night in Godric’s Hollow. With James. With Peter. Alongside the Longbottoms. He thinks he’s sobbing and laughing and screaming, and his throat is hoarse. His eyes burn something awful.

Snape tenses, as if unable to comprehend the sheer amount of emotion he’s emitting. Snape’s fingers clench around his wand, white and pale. Remus…Remus is at a loss for what to do. Snape decides for him, in his cold, emotional way.

Snape keeps the wand pointed at him. “Lupin, the position is for an assisant librarian, along with some duties helping the Heads of Houses. You’d get to stay here, safe, with some amount of money. You’d not be a danger to yourself anymore. What more do you fucking want?” 

“Peace of mind? Eternal peace? I’m still a monster, git. If I ever infected someone, I wouldn’t commit suicide, I’d get fucking Kissed! You know what I can do, how dangerous I am without being locked up, far away. It’s not safe for the students-” 

“I found a potion, a theoretical one. It was originally for sailors to keep their minds clear from sirens, but I could modify it. For you to keep your mind when you transform.” And he looks so serious, looks genuine in his offer, and Remus wonder why he even cares to save him. Snape's the last person that should care about his wellbeing. 

Their long, tangled history attests to this. Fuck, if James hadn’t pulled Severus out, well...

“Why?” He doesn’t expand on that, he let’s his voice do the asking. It's almost inaudible, but Snape hears. Remus wishes he hadn’t.

“Because I promised her.” There is only one woman that can evoke such strong emotion in Snape.

“To save me?” He shakes his head.

“To protect her son. Lupin, I don’t like you, but I’m well aware that you love Potter Jr. When the war comes again, you’ll be incremental to his survival. You will love him unconditionally, not for being the fucking saviour, which is more than most others will. The world will turn against him, like it did with us. And we are going to make is safer. We can't protect him from everything, not even all of Albus's schemes, but I sure as bloody hell will try. We must.“ 

“I never thought you to be a believer of destiny or fate.” In fact, he thought a distinct lack of faith in anything was what let Severus into the arms of one unsaid dark wizard. 

“I don’t.” 

“I see…not really. But I don’t need to understand.” Snape eases the wand from under him, and Remus relaxes. Somewhat. 

“Promise me, Lupin. Promise me you’ll stay alive and whole, for if not your sake, but for Potter’s. We'll need you. The children will all need you.” 

Remus rubs a weary had under his rough stubble. He needed to shave, now that he’s decided to live and all.

“I promise.” 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [I'd look better dead] (https://allpoetry.com/poem/12895399-Id-look-better-dead-by-blackflowercrown) is the poem...please look it up! I stole the title...
> 
> So it's been a while, but I haven't slacked off. I've been writing, and this is just the first of many Remus-centric/ Severus- centric fics. I just...need to get them perfect! This is a sort of prologue, set six years after the Potters were murdered. This is where I switch stuff up though. Here's a thought that popped up in my head: What if Remus was there from year 1?
> 
> And then I came back to make edits. Fuck.


End file.
